


Motivation

by owlaholic68



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 1, Fallout 2, Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Injury, Spoilers, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-28 16:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16727190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: Every traveler, every Courier or Chosen One or Vault Dweller or Sole Survivor, has a reason to be there:They are scared of being anywhere else. They are searching for something they will never find. They are beholden to people that will never return their appreciation and trust. They hope that maybe, someday, this world can finally become something beautiful.





	1. Vault Dweller: Duty

**Author's Note:**

> A Fallout character exploration based off the question: What motivates your characters?

Sabine got punched in the chest by a Super Mutant last week. Somehow, this hurts more.

“Wh-What?” She croaks, staring at Jacoren. At her _leader._

“I’m sorry, Sabine,” Jacoren says with a heavy sigh. “But I can’t take the chance of losing the best of an entire generation. They’ll want to leave too. We can’t risk that.”

She steps forward, her weapons and gear forgotten on the floor of this dismal cave. “Shouldn’t ya at least give them a choice?” She argues. “They deserve the same choice ya gave me-”

Jacoren says nothing as she trails away. He never gave Sabine a choice. He just threw her a weak pistol and a handful of ammo and pushed her out into this cruel world with hardly a thank you for her troubles.

“This ain’t fair,” Sabine whines, knowing the futility and selfishness of her argument. She blinks back tears. “After all that I’ve done for ya, after my loyalty and my – my quest, you’re just gonna turn your back on me?” She did everything he asked without protest. For the Vault, for her people. Unquestioning, unwavering in her duty.

“It’s a harsh world out there-”

“I _know!”_ Sabine sobs, her voice echoing off the cave walls and stern metal of the Vault door. “And you’re throwing me right back into it! You can’t even let me say goodbye to my family? Are ya even going to tell them that I’m alive?” Her parents had been so worried when she’d been chosen to find the Water Chip. She had only just turned twenty-two. Their only daughter, their pride and joy.

Jacoren’s face doesn’t budge. He turns toward the door and calmly nods at the camera in the top corner. The door starts to open. There’s not a way to open it from the outside with it being locked like it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “You’re a hero, but-”

“Fuck you,” Sabine weakly snaps. “I hope karma kicks your fuckin’ ass.”

He doesn’t look back. “-But you have to leave.”

The door closes behind him and Sabine can only stare and clutch at her crumbling heart. Was this what her resilience was worth? What was the point of carrying out her duty if all it led to was this?

Sabine has always had a responsibility to other people. But what is her responsibility to herself?

Her duty now is to keep living, just to spite that motherfuckin’ _Overseer._ With one last glare at the impenetrable door, she slings her bag over her shoulder and picks up her guns and walks towards the desert. It’s mid-morning. She can make it to Shady Sands by nightfall.

And then what? What now?

She’ll figure it out. But for now, staying alive. She owes it to herself. And she doesn’t owe _anything_ to anybody else.


	2. Chosen One: Desperation

They manage to get a quarter of the way across the room before they’re noticed.

It’s all Carla’s fault, really. She’s the only one in power armor, anyways, and there’s nothing worse for stealth than stomping around in a clunky metal suit. Not that any of her team is particularly great at being sneaky, but still. Lenny’s light on his feet, Goris can move like a shadow when he wants to, and Marcus isn’t too loud, just heavy.

A wrong step, a brush of her foot against a loose box of nails, and every monstrous eye in the room turns towards them.

“Damn it,” Marcus mutters, machine gun already in hand.

Next to him, Goris sheds his cloak and shakes out his arms, claws glinting in the low light. “We’ll hold on to our exit.”

Carla starts to reply but thinks better of it when the monsters have apparently remembered them. This isn’t their first time down here, evidenced by the pile of bloody corpses on the far side of the room. Only monster corpses, thankfully, since they had succeeded in rescuing Badger’s girlfriend Suze.

A centaur barks and shouts before scampering toward them from one side of the room, a pair of floaters on its heels. Two Wanamingos lunge at Carla and Lenny as they start running for the far side of the room. Somewhere over there should be the hatch that will let them get up to the navigation computer.

Or, Carla _hopes_ that the hatch is over there. But for now, they’ve only got an educated guess as to its location.

“On y-your left!” Lenny calls out from behind Carla. She may be in constricting power armor, but the old ghoul is not particularly fast on a good day, a few steps behind her.

The heat and adrenaline of battle makes her blind punch ruthlessly strong and fast. Her sparking electric powerfist collides with something that is both squishy and impenetrable. A third Wanamingo, from the shadows of the shipping boxes and crates. It whips across her body and the blunt force staggers her.

But she keeps going. Always moving, running, heading for something she’s not even sure is there. What if Captain Myers has the location wrong? What if this isn’t where the computer access point is? What if this is all for nothing and this ship will never sail?

That is the last thing she should be thinking about right now. It’s battle time. Marcus and Goris are doing their best keeping the exit ladder area clear. The rumble of machine gun fire and Goris’ roars as he utilizes his impressive Deathclaw strength show that they’re still up and fighting. But how long can they last?

“We need to get over there as fast as possible,” Carla says, keeping her eyes peeled for something that would indicate what they were looking for. All the Captain had known was that there was a door that needed an FOB pass. That meant some sort of keycard scanner that hopefully still had power.

“Y-Yeah!” Lenny has caught up to her since she got winded by the first Wanamingo. He’s holding onto her left elbow with one hand and looking backwards shooting with the other arm, trusting Carla to run in the right direction. He needs all his concentration to be able to shoot accurately.

The worst part is that Lenny hits with his shots. But Carla doesn’t hear anything die. How tough can these damn things be? Three shots and they don’t falter? Another two shots that find their marks and all Carla hears is a low groan from one of the monsters? How can they fight these invincible unkillable abominations?

Wanamingo number 2 swipes at her from the side and just brushes her shoulder. She doesn’t stop to properly fight it, giving it a quick strike as they run by.

Past some loading areas, sticking to the side of the wall, and Carla finally sees a door with a keycard on it. It’s on the complete other side of the hold. But if they can get there-

Lenny’s arm on her hand slips off and he yells, voice cracking in panic.

“Len-” Carla whirls and gets smacked in the chest with a slimy tentacle. It stuns her long enough for the Wanamingo to get another hit off on her, this time in the legs. But she shakes it off, because Lenny is on the ground with a Wanamingo snapping in his face. He needs help, _now._

These things must be much heavier than they look, because Lenny, kicking wildly and bashing the thing’s head with his gun, is starting to cough. He’s wheezing more than normal for a ghoul, trying everything he can to get this creature off his chest.

Solution number one: punch it. Carla does this, because this is always the first plan that comes to mind in a hectic situation. First plan does not work. The beast absorbs the hit and doesn’t move. Plan number 2: shake off the other Wanamingo slapping her back and tear this thing off him.

This plan works. Carla rips the Wanamingo off and throws it. She helps Lenny up and they start running again towards their distant destination.

“Thanks-” Lenny doesn’t even have time to finish the word before he’s no longer at Carla’s side. She shrieks his name as a Wanamingo hits him and hurls him fifty feet. He’s not wearing power armor because Carla’s an _idiot, moron, why didn’t she force him into her Enclave suit-_

Combat armor may be good, but there’s little it can do against something like this. Lenny bounces and cracks his head against the floor before rolling even farther away.

There’s a terrifying moment before he sits up. There’s a moment where Carla thinks he’s _dead._ But ghouls are made of stern stuff and Lenny’s shaken off hits that would kill a normal human. He holds his head and looks around, clearly dazed. His left arm is curled in and held against his side. It’s twisted at a horrifying angle, but Lenny pushes through the pain to stand.

Damn unlucky. He’s so far away from her. But he’s far away in the right direction. Maybe not so terribly unlucky after all.

“Catch!” Carla unhooks the FOB from her bag and chucks it as hard as she can in his direction. “Get the door open!”

He fumbles to catch the keycard. Carla turns away and focuses on moving slowly backward while also fighting off three enemies at once. A rhythm. One punch for each, gritting her teeth and pushing through the pain. For each hit she gets, they get two off on her. The power armor is starting to not help a lot.

“Door’s o-open!” Lenny yells. Above the roaring in her ears, Carla hears a beep and then the hiss of a metallic door opening.

One good punch and then she disengages and sprints for the door that Lenny is dragging open. The rusted hinges are screeching. When was the last time this door was opened? Has it ever been used?

Carla shoves Lenny in first before heaving the door shut. The monsters on the other side slam against the metal, but they can’t break through. Carla turns the wheel until the door is securely shut.

This room is tiny. Just a few feet of space and a ladder.

“Len-”

“I – I’m fine.” He doesn’t sound fine and he sure doesn’t look anywhere near fine, slumping against the wall and cradling his broken arm to his chest. “Keep g-going. Get up there.”

 _Hell no,_ she wants to say, a fierce protectiveness burning in her gut. But they need to finish this, and quick. Goris and Marcus are still holding down their exit, hopefully. Carla scrambles up the ladder and uses the computer up there to input the navigation coordinates and make sure the IFF tracker was set. Then she hurries down.

They need to do this. They need to get out of here and back up top.

And then Carla needs to leave all her friends behind. She needs to do the last part, the most dangerous part. _Alone._

Lenny is back on his feet when she gets down the ladder. There’s an empty Stimpack at his feet and his arm is in a rough sling. “R-Ready?” He unclips a stun grenade from his belt.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Carla reloads her powerfist and takes up a position to open the door. She’s not alone yet. She’s not dead yet. All she can do is keep going, even if she never makes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my opinion, one of the more difficult Fallout 2 quests: "The navigation computer needs the NavComp part to work" (I really wish the early games had fun quest titles). Just getting the FOB and NavComp parts are difficult enough (one is in Vault 13 and the other in the Navarro Base Commander's office), but then you have to go through a gauntlet of all of the hardest enemies of the game? It's a challenge to get all the way through and back and not lose anyone, but also a challenge to do it alone unless you've got crazy high Sneak skills.


	3. Courier: Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Dead Money!

Lynn is a master of keeping her cool. Even faced with hordes of geckos, all gnashing teeth and acrid stench, even faced with the cold visages of bloodthirsty Legionnaires, even alone and afraid and cold, she stays calm.

But when the heavy weight of a bomb collar settles around her neck for the second time in her life, the panic swelling in her throat chokes her like the collar is constricting, squeezing, killing her-

To observe her, Elder McNamara had said. See if she’s thorough, efficient. Set her loose like a rabid dog, like a tool to be used. They’re watching, they’re listening.

“We’ll let you roam free once we know that we can trust you,” McNamara says, voice smooth and low, and that _voice_ and those _robes_ and that same feeling of cold steel all around her, a familiar threat ringing in her ears. “This is only a temporary measure.”

“Bullshit,” Lynn stammers, and sees red. The red of Clouds and long-abandoned luxurious graveyards. Casinos and villas and the Vault, running and running with the collar beeping in her ears and alarms blaring and static screaming and she can hear that beeping now-

“Whoa-” Arcade, forgotten at her side, grabs her hands and pries her fingers off the collar. “Don’t mess with it, Lynn-”

McNamara, crowding her ears too: “I would advise you not to touch that,” he warns, standing from his nonchalant position behind his desk. “Those devices can be rather delicate, an unfortunate safety feature-”

“Shut the hell up,” Lynn hisses. “You think I don’t know _delicate?_ You think I don’t know that these things pop off every goddamn minute if you look at a radio the wrong way or get too close to some bullshit electronic signal? Or if some – some _madman_ decides to play with your life just to further his own sick purpose?” She can’t breathe, shallow gasps already making the collar dig in too much.

“It’s just a precaution-” McNamara, notedly, hasn’t addressed any of the concerns she just mentioned. Which means he either didn’t know before, or he doesn’t care now. “Just a security measure, I promise you-” He trails away at Lynn’s unrelenting glare.

“Lynn, Lynn,” Arcade quietly repeats. He’d been quiet ever since their unexpected detour into Hidden Valley, eyeing the power armor-clad soldiers and metallic hallways with something haunted in his eyes. He’s holding her hands even as they shake. Trying in vain to get her attention. “Are you okay? Breathe, come on, try to breathe a little. Is it – is it too tight? We can see if they’ll loosen it-”

One of the guards behind them shifts and the scrape of their power armor pieces sliding against each other sounds like static to Lynn’s ears. She yelps and flinches, inwardly starting to count. Where – where is safe, how long does she have – where’s the exit – are there traps – enemies – is she about to die?

“Take it off,” Arcade yells. He lets go of one of Lynn’s hands to point at McNamara. His arm shakes and his hair flops over one eye, brushing the lens of his thick glasses. “Take the collar off her right now. It’s hurting her.”

“But – but the mission-”

“Take. It. Off.”

Lynn tears at her hair with her free hand and doesn’t even notice the silence in the room above the high-pitched whine in her ears. When she untangles her hand from her hair, she pulls out chunks, curly puffs of blood-red strands. “He won’t,” she manages, “Elijah didn’t. They never let you go because they’re never done with you, there’s always more, they’re never done using you until you’re dead and even then they might still find a way to squeeze more out of you-”

“Take it off her,” McNamara finally orders, and Ramos rushes to obey.

The sudden lightness comes with a rush of air, and Lynn coughs, one hand on Arcade’s shoulder to steady herself.

“Elijah?” McNamara asks, and there’s a layer of quiet surprise in his voice. “Elijah – we thought he was-”

“Dead,” Lynn all but snarls between dry coughs. “And good fucking riddance.”

She steadies and stands on her own. “I’ll do your stupid mission.” She sees McNamara’s eyebrows raise. “Put a listening device on me, have me tracked, put the damn bomb collar in my bag, whatever you want, just don’t _ever_ put that cursed thing around my neck.”

“And I’ll stay here as collateral,” Arcade offers, pointedly not mentioning the complete breakdown he just witnessed. Normally he’d be all over checking her breathing and blood pressure, but he’s keeping his distance. Smart. “Hell, you can stick one of those things on me if you really want.”

“Going that far won’t be necessary, I think,” McNamara says. “I guess we’ll just have to trust that you’ll come back for your friend.”

Trust. Like that’s gotten Lynn anywhere with this cursed Brotherhood. But there’s nothing she’s better at then suppressing her fear and distaste for tyrants. As she gives Arcade a pat on the shoulder after the Brotherhood techs hook her up with more covert listening devices, she promises that she will do this dumb mission. She will come back for Arcade. She will nod and agree to whatever quasi-heroic quest McNamara will give her next, because this is surely not the first thing he’ll want her to do.

And then, as soon as she gets the chance, even if she has to lie and smile and flatter in order to get at least one good thing out of this exchange, whether that be weapons or power armor or whatever, she will turn her back on the Brotherhood and she will never come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA the chapter that actually started it all, and a scene that I've been wanting to write for...like a year now? Basically what would happen if you went through Dead Money before meeting the Brotherhood, and the kind of, uh, shitty parallels.


	4. Sole Survivor: Hope

Murkwater construction site is the worst place to build a settlement. Julia’s pretty sure every single person she’s talked to has voiced this exact opinion.

“It’ll be challenging, for sure,” Preston says, carefully not voicing his pessimism. “Are – are you sure, Julia?”

“I’m sure.” She frowns at the hulking corpse of the Mirelurk Queen. “We’d better start getting that thing out of here first. Then we should take a look at the ground and see which parts are hard enough to build on.”

Preston waves over the Minutemen volunteer that had accompanied them, and the three of them drag away the corpse. Then they start clearing the land and designing the settlement.

“It’ll work,” Julia quietly repeats to herself. She surveys the marshy land and surrounding damp forest. “It has to.”

* * *

It doesn’t.

Julia is awoken in the middle of the night by gunfire and shouts. The alarm bell starts to ring, little more than a metallic bell. No electricity yet, too worried about the lack of solar availability and all the surrounding water. Which also means that the settlement is pitch-black but for a handful of risky lanterns.

“Mirelurks!” Someone shouts from outside the building.

“Should have called this place _Mirelurk_ construction site,” Preston grumbles as he pulls on his boots and shoulders his rifle. His face is shadowed in the dim light of the lantern.

“At least we don’t have raiders or literally any other humans-” Julia is interrupted as the entire structure underneath them shifts. They hold their breaths and stare at each other. It settles.

See, here was the building strategy for this site: build upwards not outwards. There was precious little solid ground space. Most of that was taken up by crops, the rest by a guard tower. On the other hand, there was a lot of water, and water purifiers only took up so much space. So they had a structure starting on solid land but extending up and outwards over the water. That meant they actually had decent living space for such a small area. It was what they should have done for places like Jamaica Plain and Oberland Station.

The structure was fine by wasteland standards. But it was by no means perfect. A radstorm a week ago had almost convinced Julia they should try and build an underground shelter. But it was too wet for _that_ too!

Julia has her shoes on and gun belt halfway on when the structure lists to one side, then back like a stalk of grass swaying in the wind. She stumbles and falls on the bed, rolling off to land on the wooden floor.

“The lantern-” Preston gasps, and dives for the fallen lantern, which is rolling back and forth. Julia, spitting hair out of her mouth, grabs it and throws it to him. He chucks it out the window. The last thing they need right now is a fire.

“What’s going on out there?” Julia yells, sticking her head out the doorway. She’s tying on her bandana over her hair with fumbling fingers.

“Mirelurks, Ma’am!” A Minutemen shouts up to her.

“I know that!” She answers. “But what-”

Like slow motion, she sees two Mirelurks and one Glowing Mirelurk attacking. Her eyes narrow in on the Glowing one, which rears back and charges towards one of the fighters.

One of the fighters that is standing right below the structure. With a sinking swoosh of her stomach, Julia realizes what’s happening.

“We need to get out of here! Now!” She tells Preston, head whipping around the room. They have precious few seconds. What is most important to grab? What would be most damaged by being plunged into freezing cold irradiated water?

Something under them snaps. The building tilts. Preston yelps and shoves the communication radio under one arm, throws his bag over his shoulder, and scoops up a box of ammunition. Thankfully, most of their armaments were stored in the guard tower. He also scrambles for a pile of important papers and diagrams, stuffing those in his arms between all the other stuff. He drapes two heavy blankets over his shoulder.

Armaments. Supplies. Water. Food-

Julia runs for the coldbox and food chests. If this thing falls, it’s going to crush their crops. They’ll be stuck without food, and anything that falls into that water will become inedible. She takes her own bag, already half-full with clothing and first aid kits and extra weapons, and shoves as much fresh produce in there as possible. Then she hefts a bag of rice over one shoulder and a sackful of corn over the other, thanking her strong frame. If she can take down a deathclaw with a baseball bat, she can haul this food out.

The entire structure groans and shudders. More cracking noises echo over the gunfire. Julia, mentally counting down, scours the small food storage area for anything else she needs to grab. Leave the water behind, they can get enough from the purifier on the other side of camp, leave behind the pots and pans which have duplicates over the outside cooking fire. Flour, sugar, meat, she’s going to have to leave all of it behind. She grabs a canister of salt and a canister of Brahmin milk for lack of anything else.

“Julia!” Preston shouts from the doorway. “Come on!”

The floor tilts and Julia stumbles. She’s top-heavy. Keeping on her feet with effort, she runs for the door. Preston, seeing her finally on her way, jumps out and lands on his knees, careful with the radio under his arm. It’ll be their only way to get backup and extra supplies once this blows over.

Julia is not so graceful. She jumps as someone yells “Timber!”. Her ankle catches the sill and she falls head-first into mud.

The worst crashing noise she’s ever heard rings in her ears. The entire building crumples and falls into the lake with a distressing splash. Two of the walls hit trees and cave in. Half of the crops escaped damage but the rest are ruined.

All Julia can do is stare as it _literally_ comes crashing down. Shakily standing with a grunt of exertion, she limps onto solid ground and deposits her salvaged prizes down next to the campfire. She sits heavily. The Mirelurks are dead. All that’s left is – is _nothing._

Preston startles as she rips the kerchief off her head and starts sobbing. “Julia – I – damn it.” He shakes out his hat and points at the four other Minutemen here. “Secure the perimeter. Then start salvaging what you can. Food and beds first.” He kneels in front of her. Reliable Preston, stalwart Preston.

Not like disaster Julia. Anxious Julia, naïve Julia, _idiot_ Julia who thought building on this miserable stretch of land would actually work.

“What are we even _doing?”_ She asks between breaths, voice raspy. “What – what is wrong with us, Preston?”

“What’s wrong with us.” He stops to sigh. Preston rummages in his bag and pulls out a bottle of purified water. He takes Julia’s kerchief and soaks one edge of it, then wipes some mud and tears off her face. “What’s wrong with us is that we dared to hope.”

If hope and optimism were commodities, they would be worth billions of caps in this world. “The alternative would be to just give up,” Julia retorts. “To give up on all of this.” She waves her hand at the campsite, at the world. “Admit that the Minutemen are trying too hard. That we all should try and scrape by on our own. Live like this for the next however-many years. Give up on Shaun, on stopping the Institute, on – on putting anything to rights. I can’t – I can’t do that, Preston.”

“I know.” He pats her shoulder. “And that’s why you’re our General. Because you still have hope in this damned world.”

He lets her hug him for a few minutes. They’re both filthy and muddy. Despite his calm words, Julia can feel Preston shaking. They did just jump out of a collapsing building, after all.

It takes longer than Julia would like for her to stop crying. She wipes her face with the back of her hand and tries to stand. But her ankle is not so fond of that idea. She sits back down. “Ow.”

“You’re injured?” Preston, frowning, turns from the radio he’s setting up. “And you didn’t say anything until now?”

“Well, it wasn’t serious,” she defends. “Just a twisted ankle.” She experimentally flexes her foot. Then, leaning on a bench, she stands and puts weight on it. “Doesn’t even really hurt anymore.”

Julia stands still and looks at the wrecked structure, of all her previous efforts, ruined and broken. She takes one step forward, then another. “Get backup on the radio,” she orders, calm returning to her face. “I’ll start getting temporary shelter set up.”

There’s neither the time nor the place to sit and wallow in despair. If she’s going to survive in this cruel world, Julia needs to keep going. Keep hoping.


	5. BONUS: Sole Survivor - Faith

Left at that fork, then right in the hallway after the storage room-

“General, are you on your way to the Relay room?” Sturges asks. Julia can hear the tapping of computer keys from the other end of the radio. “This kid is starting to freak out, I don’t know what he wants.”

“I’m on my way,” Julia confirms. She’s pounding down the hallways of the Institute in her heavy power armor, helmet off and hanging at her hip. “Tell Shaun that Mom’s going to be just a few minutes.” She’d sent him along ahead of her while she took care of the reactor.

Speaking of, as per Julia’s order, an evacuation alarm is blaring, warning everybody to head to the Relay room to escape. Julia hasn’t seen anyone this deep in the Institute. She’s making her way up, she hopes. Was she supposed to turn left or right there? Did she already pass the stairwell she needed to take?

Damn it. Julia slows and pulls up her Pip-Boy local map. She scans through the pixelated diagram, mentally cursing herself for not paying better attention. This place is an escapable labyrinth. How is she going to find her way out of here in time?

“Ma’am.” A voice interrupts her thoughts.

Julia stops and lowers her Pip-Boy. She whirls, weapon raised. “Oh.”

It’s X6-88. The Courser, standing half a head taller than Julia when she’s out of power armor, is in the middle of the hallway in his distinctive black coat. His laser rifle is pointed at her chest. Julia lowers her weapon.

“X6-”

Getting shot with a laser weapon while wearing power armor is like getting kicked in the chest by a mildly strong dog. It pushes Julia back a step but is otherwise ineffective. This was her best set of power armor, after all.

“Hey!” She protests, more emotionally hurt than anything else. She keeps her gun down. “What – why?”

“Traitor,” X6 grits out. If he wasn’t still wearing sunglasses, he’d almost certainly be glaring at her right now. In fact, he’s probably glaring right now. “We trusted you – _I_ trusted you.”

“And I betrayed you. I lied to you.” Julia drops her gun and raises her hands to shoulder height. X6’s eyebrows raise and his aim falters. “You’re right. I’m sorry, X6. It was never my plan to side with the Institute. But it is also _never_ my idea to kill everyone. You’re free to go. The other Coursers are free to leave here. I won’t stop you. All of the Minutemen have orders to attack only if necessary to defend themselves.”

X6 is staring at her, seeming to study her for sincerity. Julia, despite every warning sign screaming at her to defend herself, is staying calm. X6 could easily shoot her in the head if he really wanted to, since she wasn’t wearing her helmet. “And what would you have me do after that?” He asks, steel still underlying his words.

“Leave.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“I cannot abandon my duty. My purpose is to protect this place. Dispense justice towards those who would see it come to harm. Recover that which has gone astray. What would you have me do after this, Ma’am? Where would you have me go?”

Julia is starting to sweat under his impassive gaze. “Come with me,” she suggests. “Join the Minutemen. Or travel. Find new purpose. You have a lot of skills, you’d be fine in the wasteland.”

He scoffs. “You would not allow me to come with you.”

“Yes, I would. I just offered.”

“But you would not be able to _trust_ me. Coursers are the things that go bump in the night. How can you ever be certain that I am not accompanying you only to stab you in the back when you least expect it? A betrayal for a betrayal.” His back straightens and he lowers his gun. “You cannot trust me.”

“You’re wrong.” Julia lowers her hands. “I trust you right now. Now are you coming along or not?”

Julia is absolutely certain that he’s going to refuse. Sure, she trusts him, but he is staunchly loyal to the Institute. The most she hopes to gain is to convince him to relay out of here alone, never to be seen again.

“Yes. Fine.” He holsters his rifle. “I know a quicker way up to the Relay room. Then I will remain with you for some time until I figure out what I wish to do.”

“O-Okay.” Julia motions towards the hallway. “Lead the way.”

X6 leads them through winding hallways and staircases until they reach the relay room. It’s way faster than Julia could have managed, stumbling around lost as she was.

“General-” Sturges turns from the console and visibly starts as she enters followed by X6. He looks between them, hand starting to reach for the pistol at his hip.

Julia raises her hand to stop him. “Is everyone else out?” She asks.

“Everyone that’s evacuating, yes,” he confirms. “Preston’s doing a last run-through of the atrium, then we should be good to go.”

“Good. Send Shaun through to Piper’s end. She and Nick will be able to take care of him and take him to the Castle.” Julia gives Shaun a quick hug and promises that they’ll meet up in a couple of days. He seems shell-shocked and very confused, but nods.

“Can do. Off you go.” Sturges sends him off.

Preston appears in the doorway. “We’re good to go-” He falters upon seeing the impassive figure of X6. “Okay, so I guess you’re coming with us now? Good to know. We’ll talk later. For now, Julia, we’re good to go. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

As Preston takes his place next to her on the Relay pads, he whispers, “are you really trusting him? Are you sure?”

She gives him a nod and says nothing else. Nothing else needs to be said. Of course she’s trusting him. What else would Julia do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this bonus chapter, ta-da! All done!


End file.
